mythbusters: MN edition

Myth No. 1: I am dead and my corpse is in a wood chipper. No, dear reader (who is probably just Layla because it's possible everyone else has given up on me), the truth is this poor little blog has been silent largely because I've been completely overwhelmed by the moving process. Try transporting three cats halfway across the country. (For the record, staying in a hotel with cats is not ideal if your goal is to actually sleep.) And then not having any furniture. (A sleeping bag on top of an air mattress really sucks.) And then starting a new job in a totally different industry with a totally different office culture. It's been a lot to deal with all at once.

They meowed all night.

Myth No. 2: The weather is terrible. Yes, it snowed today. But the snow didn't stick. (Which I am thankful for, since I haven't driven in real snow since grad school.) In fact, winter has been ridiculously mild. Two weekends ago, it was 70 degrees (I know, right?), and I ran outside in shorts. Shorts! In Minnesota! In March!

Myth No. 3: It's hard to make friends. (This is also what people said about Seattle, where it's called the Seattle Freeze. But I called it bullshit because I met Annie in Seattle, and she is one of my very best friends ever and the most loyal, steadfast, not-flaky person, and she was born and raised in Seattle. So take that, stupid stereotypes!) True, I haven't been here for very long and am still finding my tribe, but I definitely don't feel like I'm just sitting at home, asking my cats about their day. (Although I do enjoy talking to my cats. And singing to them. And discussing their decision-making process and why they keep making poor choices.)

An awesome welcome from my MN Coeur teammates!

Myth No. 4: Everyone is extremely conservative. Um, no. There's a fair amount of Bernie signs. My coworkers don't hesitate to criticize -- loudly, and in an office environment -- Trump and Cruz. And the Wedge could pass for a neighborhood in Portland. 

Myth No. 5: I will feel land-locked. Guys, there's water everywhere. In fact, "The Land of 10,000 Lakes" is incorrect; there are 11,842. (And I can't wait for open water swim season to start. Yes, that is something I never thought I would say in my life.)

So things are going well so far. I have yet to meet Prince and become a protege, but I did find an Eastern European deli that has blood sausage (and we all know blood sausage is pretty much the next best thing to Prince) and I love this co-op grocery and did you realize there is also a waterfall within city limits? And then there was the Roman-themed dinner -- complete with a whole pig -- at Third Bird last week. And the speakeasy-ish bar with craft cocktails, Medieval church decor and $5 cheeseburgers wrapped in paper. And the international market that makes me wish I had five stomachs so I could eat everything. And have I mentioned you can walk or bike everywhere because the trail system here is so damn good? And my apartment has a full-on lap pool. And this store is the best place ever. And people here hate the Seahawks!

This is my view every day.

Minneapolis is pretty nice.

holy cripes. oh my lanta. or whatever.

You know how when someone sends you a hand-written note in the mail and you open the envelope and there's glitter in it and you think "Yay! Fiesta!" and everything seems great and fun but then afterward you look around and realize you now have a lot of cleaning to do?

That's kind of what it's like when you get the job offer you've been working toward since August. You are thrilled for the next adventure. At last, you and the mister will live in the same city! At last, your cats will have a father figure! (Who cares if he's allergic? That's what meds are for!) At last, you are making the career change you've wanted for ages! Let's sprinkle the shit out of that glitter!

And then it hits you: I'm moving to Minneapolis. In the middle of winter. With three cats. 

They have no idea.

on orphaned socks

So I somehow lost one of my Drymax socks. However, in my last load of laundry, I did end up with a random sock I'd never seen before.

Am I a terrible person for keeping the random sock and actually using it tonight for my trainer workout when one of my neighbors may be looking for it this very second?

Not a hostage, just "adopted."

Don't answer that.

(And clearly I am having a very exciting Saturday night.)

hello and good night

Let's just say I've been ready for bed since 7:30 tonight. And the only reason I'm not passed out right now is because my neighbor is crying and I can hear everything and it's super awkward and it makes me wonder if everyone can hear me when I cry and now I'm trying to remember the last time I cried and thankfully it wasn't here in this thin-walled apartment and also it wasn't a sad cry but a happy cry, so I guess it was a different situation entirely.

Also, I'm awake because I had to do a massive amount of laundry. Yes, folks, I have started working out again. And even though I'm averaging about 3-5 hours a week (compare that to 16 when I was training for Ironman), I guess it's better than nothing. And I've become completely obsessed with hot Pilates (it's pretty much all the core work and clam shells and squats and hip and glute strengtheners that I should have been doing this whole time but never quite got around to). Unfortunately, hot Pilates results in an insane amount of sweaty, smelly spandex and towels. So laundry. Always laundry.

And I'm back on the trainer again. And running. And sometimes I think about swimming. Thinking is exercising my brain, so that's got to count for something, right?

Anyway, here's to the year ahead and to slowly digging myself out of hibernation. And with that, I'm going to bed.

This is my coworker's new puppy, possibly my spirit animal.

the off-season

Signs you are adrift in the off-season vortex and may possibly need an intervention (or at least 30 minutes on the trainer in Zone 2):

You can't remember what your Zone 2 range is.

You found your Garmin on the floor this morning because it has become a cat toy.

When your friend says she's planning to do a holiday 5K, you respond with "What is running?" And then you stuff your face with another piece of cheese.

Your bike still has its race numbers -- from a race that happened two months ago.

Eggnog (occasionally spiked with bourbon) has replaced sports drink.

You can't remember the last time you bought gels. And honestly, if you never have to eat gels again, you'll probably be OK with that.

Waking up at 7:30 a.m. is just way too early.

Weekend plans involve things like brunch instead of bike routes.

Your most recent "workout" was a surf lesson in Costa Rica two weeks ago.

You eat dinner at 7:30 p.m. instead of 5 p.m.

You took a break from your coach, and you don't know when you'll come back because you have no idea what races you'll be doing next season.

You tell people you feel weird about not having a coach, and by "weird," you mean "fat."

Your go-to wardrobe choice has gone from skinny jeans to dresses with tights. You explain this is because it is the "holidays," which also pretty much means "fat."

The amount of spandex in your laundry basket has dwindled drastically. (And been replaced by dresses and tights.)

You experiment with new activities like "hot Pilates." And find yourself wondering about CrossFit. And adult ballet. And improvisational theater. And fried chicken.

"Triathlon? Huh? What?"